


In From the Heat Chp.2

by TychoAzrephet



Series: In From the Heat [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Guilt, Hangover, M/M, Paranoia, fan fiction, faulty reccolection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TychoAzrephet/pseuds/TychoAzrephet
Summary: Sans wakes up to an irate yet concerned Papyrus after his night of drinking, will he recall the confession(and affection)he gave to Grillby the previous night?





	In From the Heat Chp.2

**Author's Note:**

> So hey everybody! I know a number of people were anticipating this second chapter for months now, and I apologize for the gallingly long gap between updates, I got caught up in schoolwork but I'm mostly just lazy and bad at maintaining investment in a project. 
> 
> But my whining aside, here's the next installment and I am working on chapter 3 as we speak, I would very much like to promise you the next chapter wont take 5 months for me to post. 
> 
> Sorry, this is why I don't make promises. ;)
> 
> (thank you all so much for your support though even if I mostly use it to guilt trip myself)
> 
> -Tycho

***KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK***

 

“SANS! GET OUT OF BED AND CLEAN YOURSELF UP! IF YOU SLEEP IN ANY LONGER, WE’LL ONLY BE AN HOUR EARLY FOR OUR SHIFTS! INCONCEIVABLE!”  the pounding of a gloved fist against his door and Papyrus’ complete lack of volume control cut into Sans’ mind like a hatchet, one eye socket cracking open to glare blurrily at the rough hewn carpet beneath his skull, a harrowed tuneless groan croaking out from his throat. 

 

He forced himself up unto his elbows, blinking asynchronously, a nauseating sense of numbness permeating every inch of his bones. A drop of dirty blue liquid fell off his teeth and soaked into the carpet, contributing to an already stark and pungent stain, Sans hung his skull and groaned again at the recognition of his own vomit. His short term memory was still adrift somewhere in hangover limbo, but he must have gotten particularly trashed last night if he’d thrown up, this was going to send Papyrus into conniptions. Time enough to worry about that when he didn’t feel like a busted TV was stuffed into his skull, scraping himself off the floor and slumping against the wall, rubbing his temples and breathing shallowly as another wave of nausea swam up his spine. 

 

As awful as he felt, combing through the still murky and indistinct memories of his previous night’s binge left him feeling...warm. Some lingering ember of heat subtly imparted on his soul, Sans scratched his skull absently and scrunched his brow in concentration, trying to force the bank of fog into discernible images. Did he go into Hotland at some point? He couldn’t remember taking a shortcut to his Hot-Cat™ stand, and there was no way he walked all the way from Snowdin and made it back by morning... 

 

The door to his bedroom was abruptly slammed open in the midst of his faulty recollecting, Sans jumping in surprise and grimacing as light spilled into the darkened space, stinging his eye sockets and illuminating the piles of debris and refuse scattered about the room. He blinked a couple times and glanced up to see a familiar silhouette towering over him, clad head to toe custom made armor that seemed to glow with polish, indicative of the owners braggadocious self importance. 

 

“MY WORD SANS, YOU’RE  _ STILL _ WEARING YOUR CLOTHES FROM YESTERDAY?! AT THIS RATE YOU’LL SOON BE CLAD IN MORE FILTH AND CRUMBS THAN ACTUAL FABRIC!”  Papyrus cracked in strident, high pitched incredulity, phantom eyebrows twitching frustratedly as Sans let out an exaggerated yawn and smirked up at him. 

 

“Good mornin’ to you too, bro, sorry for the wardrobe situation. You know that this early, my fashion sense is  _ threadbare  _ at best.”  Sans joked spiritedly, his first pun of the day lending him the energy to slide to his feet while still leaned against the wall, snickering as Papyrus threw up his arms in emphatic exasperation. 

 

“ALL THE SNARKY REMARKS IN THE WORLD WON’T MAKE UP FOR YOUR LACK OF IMAGE AWARENESS, SANS, YOUR OUTFIT COULD AT LEAST STAND THE OCCASIONAL SHOWER! FURTHERMORE...SINCE WHEN WAS YOUR CARPET BLUE IN THAT ONE PARTICULAR SPOT?”  the taller skeleton asked, tone shifting from petty reprimanding to slightly concerned, inclining his skull towards the stain and looking at Sans inquisitively. Sans sighed and raised a sleeve to wipe at his jawline, rubbing away a mixture of solidified magic and partially digested liquor, pupils drooping as he looked at Papyrus sheepishly. 

 

“Uhh, yeah...hehe, since a couple hours ago when I passed out? Weird, I can usually hold my booze better than that...oh don’t gimme that look, I’m sorry okay? I’ll clean it up first thing after our shifts, alright?”  Sans asked placatingly, raising his hands and grinning apologetically, to which Papyrus crossed his arms and set his jaw skeptically. With an sigh through his teeth, Papyrus pinched the bridge of his nose, tapping a gloved finger against his pauldron. 

 

“VERY WELL, IDEALLY I’D LIKE TO RESOLVE THIS SITUATION AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, BUT AS THINGS STAND WE’VE NEGLECTED OUR TIMEFRAME ENOUGH ALREADY. ALTHOUGH I MUST EXPRESS CONCERN OVER YOUR BEING SICK, SANS, YOU DIDN’T GIVE ANY INDICATION OF ILLNESS AFTER FINALLY GETTING IN LAST NIGHT. I SUPPOSE WE’RE BOTH FORTUNATE GRILLBY WAS GENEROUS ENOUGH TO SEE YOU HOME, IF YOU WERE REALLY THAT MUCH OUT OF SORTS.”  Papyrus mused, walking over to a pile of discarded towels and shirts, absently folding the garments as Sans’ pupils shrank. 

 

A number of the vague, disjointed images in his memory crashed together, forming a more familiar if discongruent picture. Sitting at the bar, moving furniture with his magic, looking at snow while hanging upside down. He rubbed the side of his skull slowly as Papyrus set about sorting his laundry, magic flaring briefly in his left eye socket, that faint and strange sensation of heat in his soul growing a bit stronger. 

 

“Wait...Grillby brought me home last night?”  Sans asked distractedly, less addressing Papyrus and more detachedly articulating gaps in memory, nonetheless his brother responded in the affirmative. 

 

“WELL OF COURSE, THERE’S SCANT OTHER FIRE MONSTERS LIVING IN SNOWDIN AFTER ALL.”  he said matter-o-factly, pausing momentarily and narrowing his eye sockets at Sans, not picking up on the smaller skeletons confusion.  “HEY, IF THIS LINE OF QUESTIONING IS SET UP FOR YET ANOTHER INSUFFERABLE PUN, IT’D BE YOUR MOST ARBITRARY REACH YET. I FIND IT HARD TO BELIEVE YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHATEVER EXTENDED CONVERSATION THE TWO OF YOU HAD, IT MUST HAVE HAD SOME MEASURE OF PROFUNDITY, GIVEN THAT GRILLBY WAS STOOD STILL ON OUR PORCH FOR SOME TIME BEFORE LEAVING.”  Papyrus continued thoughtfully, returning to arranging and sorting shirts by gradient of dirtiness, meanwhile Sans’ eye sockets steadily widened as the previous evening’s events settled into order. 

 

Getting progressively drunker until he and Grillby were alone, complaining about Papyrus complaining about his drinking, pulling that old trick of removing his leg so Grillby would carry him home. Sans gripped the sides of his skull and stared holes through the carpet between his feet, the last series of images he could recall shattering to the forefront of his mind, intensifying the worry that had been building behind his ribcage. He remembered Grillby holding him against his chest, babbling about only feeling safe and secure with the bartender around, looking into those piercing white eyes and then…

 

Kissing him. 

 

Without warning, without permission, kissing one of his closest friends. 

 

Then telling him he loved him. 

 

Sans’ sockets went hollow, pupils vanishing as the memories of his behavior replayed inside his skull, empty stomach dropping as panic scurried across his bones and burrowed into his soul. As an emotional reflex, his magic lashed out and attached to the nearest group of objects, which just so happened to be a neat pile of his old sweaters. Blue energy enveloped the stack of clothing before sending them flying in all directions, racing through the air at near terminal velocity. A number of the garments hit the ceiling hard enough to crack plaster, a few sailing out of the room and over the second floor banister, and one impacting the back of Papyrus’ skull to wrap totally around the skeletons head. Papyrus yelped and leapt a foot off the floor, whipping himself around and settling into a fighting stance, sockets wide enough for his real eyes to be visible. 

 

He quickly realized his attacker was merely a sweater hanging loosely off his breastplate, eyes narrowing sharply to normal size as he saw Sans’ distinctive magic twisting around the weaponized article. The taller skeleton gripped the sweater in one glove and stomped over to glare down and Sans, huffing annoyedly and setting his hands on his hips, the irritation over his ruined chore leading him to overlook his brothers horrified expression. 

 

“THAT WAS HARDLY CALLED FOR, SANS! IF YOU HAVE UMBRAGE WITH MY FOLDING METHOD, YOU COULD HAVE SIMPLY TOLD ME, OR DONE IT YOURSELF IF YOU WEREN’T SUCH A LAZYBONES!”  Papyrus bristled scathingly, or as close to scathing as the skeleton could get, which is to say not at all. 

 

Sans barely registered his brothers outrage, let alone it’s cause, running a trembling hand over his face as he tried to grasp what he had done. The memory of the kiss was so vibrant and invasive, the feeling of flames rolling over his teeth, his soul radiating an unfamiliar yet deeply comforting heat. He ground his jaw frustratedly and pressed his knuckles against his brow, conflict etching itself into his features as emotions wrestled inside his skull, wanting so much to enjoy the memory of warmth but the rapidly growing feelings of dread and self-disgust made that difficult. Sans slowly became aware of the shadow leaning over him, starting in surprise as his skull snapped up to look at Papyrus, his brothers irate expression fading and replaced with a furrow of concern. 

 

“UHM, ARE YOU ALRIGHT, SANS? I DIDN’T INTEND TO SNAP AT YOU SO HARSHLY LIKE THAT, I’M SURE YOU DIDN’T MEAN ANY OVERT OFFENSE BY DISTURBING THE LAUNDRY, I APOLOGIZE FOR MY CHURLISHNESS.”  Papyrus said, rubbing the back of his skull in a chagrined gesture, mistakenly assuming his outburst had contributed to his brothers mortified state. Sans stared up at Papyrus, pupils returning as panicked and caged pinpricks of light, abruptly realizing how shaken this revelation was making him look. He couldn’t tell Papyrus what was actually bothering him, he needed time and space to think outside of town...he needed to go tell some knock-knock jokes. Forcing his mouth into a transparently exuberant grin, Sans stood and walked stiffly over to the pile of clothes deemed least filthy, momentarily removing his hoodie and tugging off his stained shirt while searching for a suitable replacement.  

 

“No worries, Paps, it was a cheap move on my part anyways. Whats say we, uh, hit the road eh? Wouldn’t befit us sentries to be jawin’ like this when a human might show up…”  Sans said, letting the sentence hang as he pulled a relatively clean shirt over his skull and slipped his jacket back on, meanwhile Papyrus was left to stare somewhat awestruck at his brother’s actions. Not only was Sans suggesting they actually get to work on time, but here he was changing out of his rotten clothes! Papyrus felt a swelling fraternal pride in his ribcage, beaming and hopping to the door excitedly, ushering for Sans to follow him out to the landing. 

 

“FOR ONCE, I COULDN’T AGREE WITH YOU MORE, BROTHER! THIS SPONTANEOUS NEW WORK ETHIC IS HIGHLY ENCOURAGING, PERHAPS YOUR YEARS OF EXCESSIVE DRINKING HAVE HAD POSITIVE LONG TERM EFFECTS AFTER ALL!”  he said tactlessly, oblivious to Sans’ edged grin as he skirted past him, discretely nudging a sweater that had landed on the banister down to the first floor. 

 

“Heh, yeah right, and here I thought it was all those home cooked meals of yours finally paying off.”  Sans replied dryly, smirking to himself as a half confident half suspicious expression crossed over Papyrus’ face, traipsing downstairs with the taller skeleton quick behind his heels. They stopped at the foyer as Papyrus adjusted his scarf, Sans tugging out the deadbolt and pulling open the door, a few wisps of snow flowing into the cozy household. The brothers stepped onto their porch and Papyrus inhaled deeply, grin plastered across his skull as he trod through thick blankets of frost, posing heroically as Sans suppressed a chuckle looking on at him. 

 

“AHH! WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING! I CAN TELL RIGHT AWAY, SANS, TODAY IS THE DAY WE’LL FINALLY CAPTURE A HUMAN!”  he declared definitively, practically bouncing in place as Sans locked the door behind them and carefully made his way down the stoop, glancing up and feeling his spine stiffen at the sight of Grillby’s bar open for business. 

 

A number of monsters were milling about at the entrance, greeting and conversing with one another before continuing festivities inside, obviously his egregious actions the previous night hadn’t deterred Grillby from serving customers today. Sans followed Papyrus’ wide strides down the block, nodding hello to a few monsters they passed, slowing to stop across the street from Grillby’s as Papyrus carried on unawares. 

 

He stood still feeling his slippers sinking into the frost, watching on as monsters filed into the building and set about conversing jollily, ordering their meals and rounds of beverages. Sure enough, Grillby was stoic behind the bar keeping track of every request and greeting, a one man staff and crew expertly serving his clientele. Even if the fire monster probably couldn’t see him at this distance, Sans pulled up his hood tried to look as unnoticeable as possible, that all too familiar internal conflict stirring up in his soul as he watched Grillby busy at work. 

 

Every move seemed rapid yet calculated, pouring drinks and sending them sliding to their recipients over the smooth bartop, occasionally disappearing behind the back wall only to return with arm fulls of freshly fried meals bound for eager jaws. Sans recalled how it felt having those arms wrapped around him, and despite the scathing voice in the back of his skull denouncing the image as heinous, he could just picture those fire wreathed fingers curling around the base of his spine…

 

“SANS! KEEP UP, YOU SLOWBONES! AND YES, I DID JUST MAKE UP THAT SLANG TERM JUST NOW AND NO YOU AREN’T ALLOWED TO USE IT!” Papyrus’ splintering call carried easily given he was only a few meters away, dissolving Sans’ fantasizing and causing him to flinch involuntarily, hunching his skull down and turning away from the bar to hide the faint cobalt blushing spreading over his cheekbones. He gave a lazy wave and a shrug in response, to which Papyrus rolled his eye sockets and set about marching again, occasionally casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure his brother was still shuffling along behind him. 

 

Sans shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and sighed through his teeth, focusing on stepping into Papyrus’ deep bootprints, trying to dispel the lascivious daydreams bouncing around inside his skull. It didn’t feel right to keep indulging in that memory of warmth, as though it was something he’d stolen, a relief from the constant listless cold that he didn’t deserve. 

He thought back a little further, cringing at the recollections of his own drunken blithering and misconduct, desperately wondering as to what could have possibly motivated him to foist himself on Grillby like that. Sans had gotten blitzed in his company many times, they had been alone together many more times besides, and he’d never even considered going so far with a monster who was arguably his best friend. 

 

Well...maybe he  _ had _ considered it, on those lost nights he spent staring up at the speckled emptiness of his ceiling, lonesomeness gnawing away at his soul like termites on rotted wood. Maybe, when the awful need to feel affection deepened, his imagination had turned towards that tall and inscrutable bartender as his magic reacted in a wishful yearning. It wasn’t something he was proud of, Sans was proud of piteously few things, but the illicitly acquired warmth seemed to be magnifying the shamefulness of his longing. How could he hope to show his face there again, casually mingle and crack jokes, dare to seat himself at that bar and smile that stupid grin at Grillby knowing the line he’d crossed? 

 

The more extreme and paranoid part of his mind threw out the possibility of leaving Snowdin entirely, but that notion was quashed mere seconds after forming, there was no way he could get Papyrus to agree to that. All Sans wanted to do was hide, but as much as the prospect terrified him, some buried instinct warned he’d have to directly address this at some point. There was only one monster he felt comfortable discussing this with right now, no better confidant than a stranger who lived in total isolation, a set of stone doors and a plaintive voice were as much his comedic partner as his confessional. 

 

Sans looked up with a start, realizing he and Papyrus had only just left the outskirts of Snowdin, his brother facing his direction and tapping his foot impatiently. They hadn’t even reached the bridge yet. Sans sighed heavily and hung his skull, trying to focus of the snowflakes batting against his bones, a woefully inadequate distraction from the still present heat imparted on his teeth and sternum. 

 

This was gonna be a long morning.

 


End file.
